


The Bird in a Cage

by appletreebrightness



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo, Rule 63, Shire is the new Mirkwood, The Shire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appletreebrightness/pseuds/appletreebrightness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something...something is very wrong with the Shire. When Gandalf arrives to Bag-End he finds a hysterical, fear filled Belle Baggins, a watchful Lobelia and hobbits who watch him not just with distrust but anger and a barely restrained violence as well. Not hobbit-ish at all and yet they insist that his very presence there disturbed the peace of their homes. It seems that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield may very well have to stage a rescue before they even begin on the great Quest to reclaim Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What kind of sick joke are you playing?!”

In his long life Gandalf had been looked at in many different ways. The Orcs he had slain looked onto him with hate, the men looked to him in askance and on occasion, dread, the dwarves treated him with something akin to indifference and the hobbits thought him to be a very bad influence indeed.

But he had never been looked at the way Belle Baggins was looking at him right now. Like he’d shattered an already broken heart beyond all measure.

Why the mere suggestion that perhaps she might like to go on an Adventure had her near tears he did not know.

“Is that funny to you?” Her voice broke at the last two words and Gandalf’s brow furrowed. Fear flashed for a brief moment in her eyes, such terror that Gandalf was alarmed and she stepped away, nearly falling in her haste to get away from him. “We don’t want any Adventures here thank you!” She said loudly, her eyes flicking behind him for a brief second before she retreated behind the safety of her smial.

He turned around to see her cousin (or was it Aunt? He could never keep the relations of these hobbits right) Lobelia Sackville-Baggins eyeing him with distaste before flashing one venomous look at the round bright green door.

“You heard the girl. Leave.” She said harshly, the menace in her voice raising alarms in Gandalf.

The powers bestowed upon him by the Valar surged through him, finding their outlet in his voice and for a moment the Shire was overcast and grey. “I do not take orders from you, Mrs Sackville Baggins.” His voice shook and a dazed confusion flashed on Lobelia’s face but it settled back into its scowl once again.

“It’s in your best interest to leave Belle Baggins to her home.” She said one last time and left a shocked wizard in her wake.

And then he took the time to notice his surroundings and felt the dread growing in him.

The usually emerald green grass of the Shire was an insipid yellow instead, the trees lining the paths bore fruit that was small and almost shrivelled, the birds that used to chirp were silent but the caw of a crow was heard loud and clear.

A sickness lay upon the Shire and the quicker Thorin’s Company got here the better. Gandalf had a feeling he would need reinforcements.


	2. Chapter 2

“Thank you my dear fellow.”

Gandalf sipped at the cup of tea that had been handed to him by Faradoc Underhill. Unlike the smials where his cousins lived in the Shire, Faradoc was a Bree Hobbit and therefore lived in a house. His window looked out upon the eastern side of Bree-Hill.

“How’s old Tory doing then? Haven’t seen him in a long time now.” Faradoc inquired about his cousin in the Shire settling into his own hobbit sized chair across from Gandalf. The sun still peeked out from behind the clouds and Gandalf searched Faradoc’s face in the light it shone in through the square windows that would have been the despair of any self respecting hobbit in the Shire. The hobbit seemed fine although worried and Gandalf began to talk.

“Tortoras Underhill seemed quite angry to see me there. Seemed to be quite mad in fact.” He said carefully. It seemed his worry was for naught as Faradoc did not take umbrage at the insinuation.

“They all do.” He agreed with a worried nod. “It’s been like that since the Fell Winter of seven years ago, strange things have been happening there. No one ever ventures out! Not that they do it often but not even to the Prancing Pony for a puff of the good pipe weed! That’s unheard of.”

“Ah yes, the Fell Winter.” Gandalf said with a tone of anticipation and Faradoc obliged him by continuing.

“Brandywine froze over you know. It was long and terrible but they managed somehow. It’s not as pretty perhaps but it’s still the Shire.”

“Is it?” Gandalf said meaningfully finding Faradoc’s tact a bit annoying in his currently excited state.

“Now now, I know that they’ve gotten a bit too protective but that’s to be expected you know. The wolves took many that year and then with the finding of the strange body under the ice-“

“Strange body?” Gandalf leant forward with a frown.

“Well yes. The young Darago went out and saw a body floating under the frozen Brandywine. They fished it out but whatever it was, it was mad and ended up impaling himself on the end of one of the farmer’s pitchforks and the farmers were only there to help get the body out you know. Nasty little thing too, saw it with my own eyes I did when they brought it up here to see if any of the men knew what it was.”

“And what was it?”

“No one knows. Even the Rangers were baffled. It was a wee thing though, white as snow, all skin and bones. Big bulging eyes and nine teeth, no hair at all save for a few sad little strands. For a moment when he was being buried, he almost looked...” Faradoc trailed off, a distant look on his face.

“Yes?” Gandalf prompted.

“Well it almost looked like it might have been a hobbit! A bigger hobbit perhaps but... Och, the eyes see what they want to see.”

And Gandalf remembered that there had been a creature like the one described that had been seen fleeing the Misty Mountains, chased out of there by goblins. He was jolted out of his thoughts when Faradoc who was continuing his tale made mention of Belle.

“What did you say?”

“Belle Baggins. She was the last Shire hobbit to come this way you know.”

“Where was she heading?”

“Rivendell. I caught her in the Prancing Pony. The lass said that she was concerned about how the hobbits were behaving. Said she thought they were under some spell and that perhaps the Elves of Rivendell could help.”

“When was this?”

“Four years ago? The winter was long that year as well, not a Fell winter of course but still bad.”

“Belle Baggins. And I suppose this wasn’t the first time she’d ventured there.”

“No indeed, that would be her third trip to the Elves. Mind you I didn’t believe that she had made it there myself until one of them came along with her as an escort.”

“An escort?”

“Apparently they had some business with the Rangers. Don’t know much about it meself.” Faradoc said in a self effacing manner and Gandalf smiled. For someone who didn’t know much about it he seemed quite well informed.

It seemed he would have to return to the Shire and talk to Belle again. Now all he had to do was tell Thorin that his quest was going to be delayed by a bit. Gandalf did not see that conversation going well.

* * *

As per usual Lobelia did not bother with salutations of any kind. “My dear, I thought I saw  _Gandalf_ here this morning.”

“Yes, he just dropped by to say hello.”

“Isn’t it just terrible having people drop in on you unexpectedly?” Lobelia said, tutting disapprovingly as she shut her parasol and settled herself in the sitting room while Belle rummaged for tea. Belle refrained from mentioning that Lobelia herself had dropped in quite unexpectedly but that would have been rude not to mention a lie. Belle had been expecting this since the very second she had spotted Lobelia’s ugly puce coloured gown peeking out from behind Gandalf’s robes.

“Yes but it wouldn’t be very polite to just turn them away now would it? Not hobbit-ish at all.” She tittered, hoping the mention of the hobbit-ish ways would settle Lobelia.

But her cousin remained uppity and the dread in her grew.

“Now now, what did Gandalf want?” Lobelia commanded and Belle swallowed.

She tried to hold it back, to keep herself from replying but a burn at her ankle told her it would be futile and with a shuddering sigh she gave in. “He wanted...he wanted someone who could participate in an Adventure.” She couldn’t help it, the words tumbled out of her throat and even as Lobelia face grew stormy Belle relaxed a bit as the pain lessened.

“How dare he?!” Belle watched her cousin stand up pacing the room in a fury. Her face twisted and turned the scowl turning into a snarl, angry and predatory. “How dare he disturb our hard won peace?!”

Belle shrunk in on herself. It didn’t matter that the peace wasn’t actually that hard won, indeed no Hobbit still alive even remembered the Wandering Days. And while the Fell winter had been hard it had taken very few lives from them, especially when compared to the losses that the village she had passed through at the time had suffered. She had seen villages torn down, children huddled around meagre camp fires, in comparison to that, the hobbits had been living in comfort if not luxury.

And then Lobelia turned to her sharply, eyes flashing with something dark.

“What did you tell him?” She asked, sharp and low and for a moment Belle was certain she heard another voice join with Lobelia’s.

“I told him that no one in Shire wanted any adventure and that he should try Bree.”

Lobelia sniffed, thin lips curling into a cruel smile. Belle shuddered. She had seen that smile often when they’d kept her locked up for trying to go for a walk to the Barrow-downs.

 _‘It’s for your own good.’_ Lobelia had said then with that same smile.

“Good girl.”

“Would you like some scones? I made them just last night.” She offered but luckily Lobelia refused and instead took this as her cue to leave.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Lobelia said and walked to the door, Belle following close behind. “I was just doing my duty as a good hobbit.” And the unsaid words floated in the air. _‘Like you should be as well’_ and Belle knew that she was still not really considered a proper hobbit.

She shut the door, waiting for Lobelia to be at least out the gate, waving goodbye one last time before doing so and finally in the silence of her now empty home she allowed herself to relax. Belle slid down the length of the door, still leaning against it as she turned to face the wooden halls.  Her heart was beating fast as if she’d run from Rivendell to the Shire and she shifted her skirts, pulling it above her right ankle. The skin around the metal cuff with runes etched into it was an angry red and on a hobbling foot she went to her medicine bag, applying the white salve that had become her best friend in the past years. The tin was almost empty and she would need to cut some more arnica from her gardens.

She was stuck here forever and the only one who might have been able to help her she had driven away. Why oh why did Lobelia have to pass by the smial at just the moment when Gandalf was there?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! *waves awkwardly* How goes it?  
> I just wanted to thank anyone who’s actually reading this. I’m not a good writer, even replying to reviews and comments is difficult for me. I can be the best silent reader there is, so ninja that no one would know I’m reading if it weren’t for websites counting hits. But as a writer, I kinda suck. This note took me six hours to plan and write. Seriously. I am pretty sure that I have broken some internet etiquette rule by not using the requisite amount of smileys and might have offended people for which I apologise. But for some reason people are actually reading this note. And the story. That scares me a bit but in the best kind of way though. So really, thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Gandalf stood at the borders of the Shire. It was silent save for the rustle of dry leaves and the caw of a crow that had taken up residence on an old elm tree, dead and withered. Long blonde grass swayed and once he had surveyed all that he could. He took another step but faltered when his staff hit something that sent a vibration through it and then through him. He flinched at the feeling that had come over him, as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on him. He parted the grass with the end of his staff and then bending down he brushed off the soil that was apparently covering something up. As the final few bits of soft earth were cleared, Gandalf found himself tightening the grip on his staff.

This was the second time in many months that he had come across black speech, the last being a price for Thorin’s head but this was different.

This was pure black speech as had not been seen in the Third Age, written in the beloved Tengwar of the Elves. Gandalf could not even read all of it but he could understand enough of it to know that these were restrictions, binding someone to the border it created. And he had a good idea who that someone might be.

But if his suspicions were right then she could not leave the Shire and although he may enter it, the Shire would not welcome him. It was a good thing then that he was to meet up with a great many rather industrious dwarves later.

* * *

“Thorin!” The welcoming cry in the voice of Balin was music to his ears and Thorin Oakenshield sagged in near relief, making his way over to the long table in the corner his Company was gathered around. It was only  a few months ago that Gandalf had come to him in this very same place, Bree’s Prancing Pony and urged him to take back Erebor and it seemed fitting that this was where they should meet. He scanned the table absently, eyes flitting over all of them, throwing a brief affectionate smile at his nephews and acknowledging all the members with nods.

“Where’s Gandalf? And the Burglar he was talking about?”

Balin’s smile turned worried. “Apparently there’s been a bit of a problem concerning that. He returned a few hours ago and said there had been a change in plans, told us to settle in here for the night and went out again. He didn’t say much but I wager that he’s scared.”

As if by Providence, the doors of the inn opened again, bringing a cold gust with them that had them turning to the doors. In stepped Gandalf and Thorin could see why Balin thought something wrong. The wizard’s eyes swept over every single corner of the room, apparently looking for something and not quite finding it. Distressed, he made his way to the bar instead of the table after one brief nod at them that Thorin found entirely insufficient.

He wanted to know why his quest was being delayed so, he wanted to know why there was no Burglar yet while Gandalf had clearly had someone rather specific in mind when he’d suggested it. So pushing his way through the few faltering drunk Men, Thorin went and sat down at the bar right next to the wizard.

“Gandalf.”

“Thorin.” Gandalf acknowledged but did not say anything while the barman tended to other customers before coming to them. “Ah, one ale please.”

“Make that two.” Thorin added. “Gandalf-“

He was ignored as Gandalf all but pretended he wasn’t there. “I wonder if you’ve seen my friend here, a hobbit form the Shire.”

The barkeeper shook his head while Gandalf fished for information and Thorin smothered his anger at being ignored. “Haven’t seen a Shire Halfling in over a year.”

“A year? That’s a long time.”

“We had some idea it would happen, at least got ourselves some warning.” The barkeep said, chattily.

“Indeed?”

“Aye, they started coming lesser and lesser since the Fell Winter of four years ago. Strange the things that happen. The Bree Hobbits still come though, if one of them is the one you’re looking for.”

“Ah no, it is a Shire hobbit I’m looking for. These strange happenings, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about them would you?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Nothing much. Apparently some body floated down to them and they brought it here to see is it was anyone that someone here knew.”

“And did anyone?”

“Nay, not human nor beast it was. The Rangers were baffled as well.”

“Indeed. I hear some think it might have been a hobbit.”

Thorin was getting tired of all this talk of Halflings. But the Tharkun had his reasons, he supposed and Thorin still had a bit of patience left.

The barkeep snorted. “Hobbit indeed. I tell you that thing was half beast. Surprised it was wearing anything at all.”

“What did it wear?”

“A loincloth, nothing more. Strangest thing, it had a pocket in it, empty too. What would that creature need a pocket for?”

Finally he left leaving the wizard and the dwarf prince to talk.

“Gandalf, we need to make a move, where is this Burglar of yours?”

“I am afraid, Thorin, that the quest might have to be put off while we rescue our Burglar.”

* * *

Seated in a private parlour room with the rest of his Company, Thorin glowered at Gandalf only half heartedly listening to what he said. A part of him was annoyed at Gandalf’s fondness of the little hobbit village, it seemed misplaced to say the least. Thorin had led his people through hard times, working in villages of Men, fighting in battle, shedding sweat and blood to provide for his people and he could not understand the concern. They had food in their bellies and homes, what could they possibly be wanting for? He had heard of the Halflings and their affinity for the Earth.

“What does this have to do with the quest for Erebor?”

Gandalf turned cold eyes to him and the shadows in the room gravitated towards him, enveloping their table in an unnatural darkness.

Thorin hadn’t had many dealings with Gandalf. He hadn’t even seen him before that not so chance meeting at the Prancing Pony some  

“There are lives at stake Thorin Oakenshield and I would care to remind you that I am one of the guardians who stand watch over Middle Earth.” The darkness retreated and Gandalf was back to being a normal, vagabond with a penchant for Old Toby. “Now, that being said I am sorry that we have been taken so off course. But I am afraid something has come up regarding the Burglar.”

“Indeed. And who is this Burglar exactly?” Perhaps the young boy who had tried to pickpocket him near the market? But no, that made no sense, Nori was far better skilled than he was, if a thief was what they needed Nori would have done fine.

With great hesitation Gandalf answered. “Belle Baggins, of the Shire.”

“A Halfling?” Incredulity coloured Thorin’s voice. “A woman at that. I cannot accept that Gandalf, they are too soft and too important to be on this-“

“Fool’s quest? As it stands she might be in need of a rescue. Something very strange is happening down at the Shire. They have never been the most welcoming of folk perhaps, the Wandering Years have ingrained a distrust of outsiders in them but they were never so aggressive about it, so dogmatic. Hobbits are inherently a peace loving folk yet I have seen the intent to kill in far too many of them, simply on my walk through. They were angry about things they could not possibly have known. Young Tomarin had the gall to tell me to keep out of Bagshot Row, yet I met him at the Green Dragon and he could not possibly have known that I had even been there.” Gandalf frowned, lost in his thought and continued ignoring the dwarf next to him who was still annoyed.

“I say we do it.” Bofur said enthusiastically only to wilt a bit when eyes turned to him. As usual though, he regained his smile easily. Thorin had always envied him that fact. “Well it’s all very good, saving Erebor and defeating the dragon but rescuing a damsel in distress, that’s what quests are really about. Like the tale of Álvdís and Draupnir.” He looked away dreamily.

“Bofur, we did not come on this quest to find _love_.” Kili said rolling his eyes before turning to Fili. “Did we?” He whispered but Fili shook his head firmly.

Thorin closed his eyes and breathed deeply in and out. He reminded himself that when he had called, these were the ones who had answered. Their willingness to follow him meant more than all the soldiers in Dain’s army who had decided that this was not their quest.

And he realised that he had yet to give the Company that news.

“Dain and the Dwarves of Ironhill will not come.” He said abruptly. “He says this quest is ours and ours alone.”

They were alone in this save for a wizard and, apparently, a hobbit.

“Why a Hobbit?” Fili asked the question that was on everyone’s minds. “Nori’s as good a thief as any, why can’t he do it?” Despite clearly being offended at the thought of being ‘good as any’ Nori nodded his head.

“The dragon is used to the stench of dwarves, hobbits are all but unknown to him and they are known to be very quiet although they tread on big feet.” Gandalf said and all of them accepted that answer.

“Thorin, a word?” Balin said and the two ushered out of the room and into a corner of the main bar. “I say we hear out what the wizard has to say.”

“You cannot be taking this seriously?”

“Do you remember the fall of Erebor,” Thorin stilled wondering how Balin could even ask that question. He didn’t even have to try too hard to remember the smell of smoke, the trees burning bright, the city of Dale blackened with soot and Erebor’s halls alight with dragon fire. He remembered well. “You remember how we fell because no one would help?”

“ Yes but-“

“And it would earn us a Burglar. One that is bound by a life debt and not just a contract.” Balin said meaningfully and Thorin paused in his anger.

Balin made a point. There would be no trusting a Burglar, especially one that wasn’t even a dwarf but all the races of Middle Earth were honour bound to repay a life debt. There had even been ancient tales of Orcs that had repaid life debts going against the Dark One that they served.

“Fine we hear him out.” Thorin growled and swept back into the room, Balin following him. “What is it that you want us to do?”

Gandalf let out a puff of smoke, a hint of mischief coming back to his face. “I want you to dig a tunnel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, good people and Merry Christmas to all those who celebrate it. To those who don't, Merry greetings for the season of Stuff-is-on-sale .


	4. Chapter 4

Belle had always been a Daddy’s girl. She adored her father, with his habit of smoking pipe weed in the early mornings on the bench outside the house, his penchant for shaking the cane he had taken to using in his final years at the hobbits who would come to inquire after her, his calm way of talking to everyone, polite, even to Lobelia no matter what the woman said and the way he always brewed the perfect cup of tea, not too mild and not too strong, just right.

But she probably adored him so much because she was in every way imaginable, Belladonna Took’s daughter, her spitting image in all but the colour of her hair. And Belladonna had been famous for her adventures just as Belle had become. On the last trip to Rivendell alone, Belle had encountered several ghastly creatures, trolls, goblins and even a stray Warg, all of them heading towards her or, as she suspected it to be now, heading towards the Shire. Belle believed, in the way the Elves did, that the world was connected. Everything that happened, happened for a reason, there were no coincidences. It wasn’t much of a leap to make then that the strange evil that permeated Shire was drawing all manners of fell creatures to them, not that they would know given how diligent the Rangers were in their duties.

She had faced her fair share of dangers and she remembered them now, when she heard the faint scratching noises right under her.

So despite the stinging in her ankle ( _‘It’s not very hobbit-ish to fight!’_ as Lobelia put it) she reached for the sword Elrond had gifted her on her first visit to Rivendell and on very quiet feet she followed the noises to where they were loudest, the cellar.

While all smials were preferably on the same level and Bag-End as the best Smial in all of Shire was certainly in keeping with that, the cellars had gently sloping floors and towards the end of the room it could almost be considered to be on a lower level altogether if one was so inclined.

And it was at the very end of that room that the sounds of digging and voices, many of them were heard almost clearly. Belle hid behind a barrel of red wine and waited silently. The thuds that had been faint before grew loud.

“Oye Dori, get that beam up properly, don’t want the tunnel to collapse on us!” Said a loud, cheery voice with just a hint of exhaustion to it.

“Keep at it,” Another person said, the sound rough and authoritative and not just because of the commands that he barked out. Someone who was used to being listened to. “The sooner we rescue the burglar the sooner we can get back to the task at hand.”

Belle wasn’t that confused anymore. Clearly these were people who had gotten lost underground while trying to rescue a comrade who was a thief. Probably a group of bandits then, she thought with disgust, readying her sword for action but another thought niggle din her mind. She had met and taken care of bandits before and they tended to run away in the face of danger, they certainly didn’t dig tunnels to rescue their comrades.

The sound of floor boards being pushed up broke her out of her thoughts and she pressed into the barrel, steadying her breath.

With a few coughs dwarves began clambering out of the hole in her cellar, one by one. The candles she had left burning in the holder to the sides threw a flickering light and she counted the shadows to get herself some idea of the number of people she would be coming up against. She counted seven and even more seemed to be on their way if the ruckus from the corner was anything to go by. One of them turned in a particular way, his shadow revealed two axe-like shapes next to his head and she silently swore.

“It’s nice, this place.” A young voice commented. “Better if it was made of stone but still.” Dwarves then, the shadows were small enough for her to know without a doubt that they certainly weren’t Men folk.

“We’re not here to size up the house’s value.” A wise old voice said and she could almost feel him shaking his head. In fact she could see one of the shadows do exactly that, one with an apparently gravity defying beard.

Belle tried to think but between the pain in her foot that was growing by the second and reconciling the fact that a group of people had broken into her house she was finding it hard to be her usually sharp self. But she knew they were there to rescue someone and reasoned that whoever these bandits were, they had a sense of kinship to one another. Hating herself for what she was about to do she swung out of her hiding place and grabbed the closest Dwarf from the back. She put her sword threateningly at his throat and pulled him back with her towards the wall.

“Who the hell are you all and what are you doing in my house?!” She all but shrieked, a combination of outrage at having people break into her house and the pain of the cuff punishing her for talking to an outsider and cursing and holding a weapon. She’s always known that Lobelia’s little leash would be the death of her but she hadn’t thought it would be quite so literal and as another pang ran up her leg she stumbled, leaning against the wall to keep herself standing.

Belle had never held anyone hostage before (oh the shame of having to do so) but no matter what, she had not accounted for the hostage to be what seemed to be a foot taller than her and for him to have such long silver streaked brown hair that it got in her face and was most annoying. She also hadn’t counted on him to be so completely unthreatened by the sword t his throat.

“This is ridiculous.” Her hostage said and she swore as she realised that she had grabbed the authoritative one. She’d been hoping for the old wise one. “Put the sword down, Halfling.” He ordered and she scoffed loudly in his ear.

Before the noise was even fully out of her mouth, he twisted in her grip and disarmed her within a blink, the sword falling to the ground with a clatter. Either she had gotten very rusty in the last few years or the Dwarf was a very good fighter. Belle suspected it was a combination of both. But then he edged closer and her fist flew of its own accord and she mustn’t have been that rusty after all because it hit the mark, right in the ribs like Elladan had taught her to. The Dwarf stumbled back before regaining his bearings too fast for her liking while her knuckles burned and her ankle sang with pain. It must have shown on her face because they all backed off, the one she had punched even holding up his hands, placating.

“We don’t want to hurt you.”

“What in Eru’s name are you doing in my house?!” She repeated herself, her voice sluggish

The wise old one, whose hair apparently matched his age with a snowy paleness to it, held a hand at his waist and sighed, tired.

“We’ve been sent here by Gandalf the Grey wizard to rescue you, Belle Baggins.”

“Wha-?”

Gandalf had understood, he could free her from the cuff and help her figure out exactly what was wrong with the Shire! A laugh escaped her, a desperate maniacal sound but the elation wasn’t enough to combat the pain in her leg that had grown from a sharp pain in her ankle to an agonizing, all consuming ache, her muscles spasming and cramping violently until she dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

* * *

They stared at the young Hobbit who lay in a heap on the floor for a few seconds before Thorin began issuing orders again.

“Dwalin, Dori, take her back to her room. Oin you go with them, make sure she’s alright. Fili you take Kili and find Gandalf, tell him we are in Miss Baggins’ home and she is in need of assistance.”

The place was a hive of activity again and Thorin stood there rubbing his temple.

“I suppose this isn’t how you expected things to go?” Balin said with a hint of a smirk and Thorin felt a headache coming on.

“No it isn’t.” He rubbed his ribs where the hit had landed with surprising accuracy and strength.

She had hidden from them well enough that Nori hadn’t known she was there, managed to keep them on their toes for a good few seconds and was quiet on her feet just like Gandalf had said she was. Perhaps she could be an asset after all.

“Well, at least we know the lass can defend herself.”

Balin’s laughter trailed behind him as he left, Thorin glaring at his back. Gingerly he touched his rib, certain it would bruise. Yes, she could defend herself just fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update but I have spent the last few days ill and in bed and so out of my mind that I kept on giggling at typos instead of fixing it. Editing is hard when you’re sick as a dog. Not that I’ve ever known a sick dog. 
> 
> Also, everything I know about digging has come from the third Lion King movie and that was being dug by meerkats so I don’t know if I’ve been very accurate in my descriptions of tunnels. But meerkats are totally like hobbits and Bilbo is Timon while Gandalf is Rafiki and Thorin is Simba! All roads lead back to the Lion King. Or well, Hamlet. 
> 
> Oh, and Happy (soon to be a) New Year!


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up from a dead faint was not unlike waking up from a disturbed, restless sleep. Belle’s head throbbed, her eyes were crusty and her throat felt like she’d swallowed a live cat and it had clawed its way up her throat. It took her a good few minutes to shake the heaviness off and another few to remember how she had fallen asleep at such an early hour to begin with. A glance at the clock in her room told her it was only eight in the night, she was usually preparing for bed at this time, not waking up in it.

And then it came to her, the noises under her feet, the dwarves emerging from under the cellar and the one in particular she had held at knife point and who had mentioned Gandalf. Carefully she went over everything she had heard, now with the knowledge that they were there to rescue her upon Gandalf’s request and she remembered something that brought a frown to her face.

_‘The sooner we rescue the burglar the sooner we can get back to the task at hand.’_

The burglar. What was that supposed to mean? Were they implying that she was a burglar (which she wasn’t, no matter what Farmer Gredding said, she did not steal his mushrooms!) or that they were there for someone other than her as well? But no hobbit would associate themselves with dwarves, not anymore at least. So they must mean that she was the burglar but why?

Gingerly she made her way out of her bedroom and found the fire roaring in the hearth while the dwarf she had held at knife point and Gandalf sat on the armchairs across from it, smoking pipeweed. _Her_ pipe weed if the smell of the really good Old Toby from South Farthing aged fifteen years and dried on the solstice day when the sun had been out long and particularly lovely, was anything to go by.

“Gandalf?” She said and while the dwarf’s head whipped toward her with alarming speed, Gandalf himself simply smiled, not taking his eyes off the fire crackling away. The dwarf stood and offered the seat to her but she remained standing, waiting for Gandalf to speak.

“Ah, young Belle Baggins. It will be good to speak to you without others watching.”

Despite herself Belle smiled, a wan thing but a smile nonetheless and she was glad for it. It was hard to come by a reason for such a thing nowadays. “It will. But why-“

Before she could begin to ask a crashing sound resounded from the kitchen and she flew out the doorway to there. What she found was a young dark haired dwarf covered in flour, the culprit behind it probably the blond one who held shards of the flour pot in his hand.

“Shh, don’t make any noise!” She said and began pushing the two into the smoking room, the rest following close behind. Soon thirteen dwarves and one wizard were sequestered in the smoking room and the oak hall as far away from the windows as possible and once they were there she doubled back to check if all the windows were closed before she returned back to them.

They were staring at her like she was a madwoman.

“Are you keeping us a dirty little secret Miss Boggins?” The dark haired young one said and she wondered if she should sob or laugh, ending up doing both. It was a frenzied sound, one that sent the smiled sliding off the young one’s face.

“You can’t be too safe, not here. Not anymore.” The cuff sent a pang as she insulted the beloved Shire but she tried to ignore it. That dull throb that was ever present was something she was well accustomed to but the cuff was acting up, between her insulting the Shire and actually talking to an Outsider, it was sending wild pangs through her but Gandalf’s presence allowed her to control her reaction to it, as did the prospect of being rescued.

“You’re in pain.” Gandalf frowned leaning forward and instinctively she shifted her foot back, earning it some attention from Gandalf but there were other things that needed to be discussed.

“First things first, I’d like to know the names of my would be rescuers.”

“Fili-“

“And Kili-“

“At your service.” The two bowed and grinned.

“Belle Baggins. And that’s Baggins, not Boggins, to you young man.” She shot a sharp glance at the one she’d found to be Kili and he had the decency to look sheepish.

“Dwalin. At your serv-“

“Let’s just assume the ‘at your service’ part and stick to names for now, shall we? Time is short.”

“Beg your pardon miss but its only eight.”

“And you are?”

The red head flushed and bowed. “Ori.”

“Well Master Ori, this is about the time that I must sleep and if the fire is still burning after a certain point, it shall be...noticed.”

She could see it happening already, just like it had the last time she’d stayed awake, too busy in the paperwork for the rent. The whole of Shire had been dark with all lights out and then when the clock struck ten and she looked out the window one by one the lights in the houses had come on and soon Lobelia had knocked on her door asking why she wasn’t asleep yet.

Afraid the same would happen again she cautiously looked out the window only to find the lights in Shire all out and almost fell over in relief.

“You are afraid of your kin.” Her former hostage said with a frown.

“That’s one way of putting it mister-?”

“Thorin Oakenshield. And that’s Balin, Nori, Dori, Oin, Gloin and Bifur, Bofur, Bombur.” She finally had names to go with all the dwarves and repeated them under her breath until she had learnt them all.

They sounded strange to her ears, used as they were to Westron and Sindarin, but she liked them nonetheless.

“Now then, about this business of the Shire-“ Before Gandalf could finish, from the corner of her eyes she caught a flahs of light and saw a candle moving through the Sandyman family’s smial across from hers and she leapt into action, moving to the fire and using a poker to move the logs about and throwing ash onto them until they no longer burnt as hard and fast and when the light had dimmed enough she went back to her post at the window waiting and watching.

Her heart was in her throat. She slapped a hand over her mouth to smother the sound of her too fast breath and waited but she could hear the blood rushing in her ears and it didn’t feel like it would stop anytime soon.

She didn’t get any warning when something like this happened, no way of anticipating. One second she’d meet Hamfast on her way to the market and the next thing she’d come across Lobelia who knew far too many details of a conversation that was supposed to be private. Gossip spread fast, of all people _she_ knew that, she’d taken advantage of that fact but this wasn’t gossip. She was almost certain they could read each others’ minds honestly.

But the light in the smial died down and she could finally breathe easy.

It wouldn’t take long, at this rate, for her to lose her mind. Swinging between fear and relief so acutely was taking a toll on her.

 She was half way to insanity already, measuring every step like it was sugar in a recipe, designed to bring about the same result every day and every day stayed the same, the same fear of just being _alive_ , of being put away into that dark room again where she could see nothing, hear nothing, nothing but the sound of her blood pumping through her body.

Belle was rooted in the memories of that room, shaking, rocking herself back and forth, her eyes flitting between the hearth and the windows, teeth clattering against one another until she began chewing the skin of her thumb to stop its sound. It took the feel of someone’s palm against her shoulder, Thorin she realised to bring her back to the present and she sagged into the first touch she’d felt in years, in respite. But it served as more than just an anchor, it was also a reminder that she had lost all sense of decorum in front of thirteen virtual strangers.

They were looking at her now, their expressions varying from wary to worried to sympathetic. A smile tugged at her mouth, all of these looks were better than the cold calculative ones she was used to receiving from the hobbits.

“I’m not afraid of my kin, Master Oakenshield. I’m absolutely _terrified_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so so sorry for not updating but instead of getting better I just got sicker plus I’d write, I’d read out loud, I’d cough, I’d cough some more, wouldn’t really stop coughing and down some cough syrup that made me sleepy and then end up breaking my intercostal muscles with all the coughing.  
> I got this bad in my bed just because it was a bit cold, I have newfound respect for Bilbo and the rest with their stint in the barrels, that water must have been bloody freezing!


	6. Chapter 6

“May I see your leg?” Gandalf asked the hobbit. They had settled her into an armchair once she’d calmed down and despite the snug fit, all the dwarves had managed to find themselves  a place in the Smoking room, some standing in the hallway but away from the windows as per the hobbit’s request only a single candle in the centre of the room was lit

“Is it that obvious?” Miss Baggins had regained some colour to her and was smiling albeit wanly. It was an improvement over the witless fear and Thorin was glad for It. Hysterical women were never his speed.

“Your skirt is far too long, young Belle.” Gandalf said meaningfully but Thorin grew confused. It seemed of quite a normal length to him.

She laughed. “Yes, the only reason I’ve been getting away with it is because I tell people I don’t have the time to take in my mother’s old clothes. They know otherwise of course but are willing enough to go along with it.” She sat down with a ragged breath and put her hands on the hem of her skirts only to stop abruptly and turn to them all, cocking a brow. “I don’t want to hear a peep of propriety or anything of that sort from any of you. I know that it’s considered improper for women’s feet to be bare but I am a hobbit and for us wearing shoes is just wrong. Do you all understand?”

Absently, Thorin wondered what kind of person she’d been before her village had turned against her.

“You have our permission to be as improper as you want Miss Boggins.” Kili teased and it dragged a smile out of her.

“Baggins, young Kili, Baggins.”

In an entirely uncaring gesture she pulled the skirt up and Thorin reeled. Impropriety was forgotten (although he did have to wonder about the feet, he’d always thought it was just the men that had the large feet but apparently it was hobbit women too) and the collective intake of breath from the group was reserved entirely for the large metal cuff on her reddened ankle. It was smooth heavy band of steel, a good inch thick. It wasn’t very well made however, shoddy metalwork, a complete waste of good steel. Thorin was certain that with little more than a pair of tongs he would be able to break it, it wouldn’t have taken him more than a few minutes were it not for the glowing red letters on it.

“What in Mahal’s name is that?” Dori pushed Ori behind him surreptitiously although the amused look on Miss Baggins said that she had noticed.

“Why, it’s my punishment of course, for being such a wilful hobbit, for running away on adventures, for being so improper as to live alone even though I’m a lady while my cousins would be more than willing to open their homes for me. This to train me in the good ways of _proper_ hobbits.”

“It pains you?”

“Every time I do something that may be considered un-hobbitish. She’s a vicious little thing, I’m certain she has a mind of her own. Sometimes she even pains me because of what I’m thinking.”

“ _She_?” Gandalf snorted, amused thought there was nothing amusing with the swollen red foot he was looking at.

“I’m quite certain it was modelled with Lobelia in mind.”

 While the wizard studied the markings, asking her to turn the cuff this way and that to read the words written on it, Thorin kept his eyes away from the vicinity of her foot. She may have been a hobbit but they were dwarves and it was inappropriate to be in her house and be so free with her so with a cursory glance he kept his eyes on her hands and studied them.

They weren’t particularly pretty hands perhaps, but they were neatly kept and she held them delicately, her little finger moving away from the others on instinct as was the custom with gentle folk. Her hands shifted and the nails caught the light and gleamed and it was then that he noticed that the nail on her ring finger on the right hand was distorted. He wouldn’t have thought much about it really, accidents happen and even gentlehobbits worked in their gardens he presumed and so it wasn’t much of a big deal. After all he’d injured himself on plenty of occasions in the forges but then she curled her hands and when he looked up he found her watching him with a frown. Her eyes flicked back to Gandalf but the way she kept herself angled away from him and had now taken to fisting her hands completely told him a  different story.

Whatever the reason was for her ripped nails, it was not mundane and it was not something she was willing to share.

“You can get it off can’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement and one that Gandalf agreed with.

“I can.”

“But you won’t.”

There was a long moment of silence while the wizard tapped his pipe against the mantle.

“No.”

“Why not?” Kili asked.

“Because that changes nothing.” She said harshly, her jaw clenched even though her body language was relaxed. “If this comes off, they’ll know about it and then what? You think they’d just let It go, they’d think that I managed It all on my own? No they’ll know that I’ve been communicating with an Outsider and that would mean a worse punishment.”

“And there is still the matter of what is wrong with the Shire.”

“I wish I knew I thought it had something to do with whatever is being kept in the old barn-“

“The barn? The one near the old Mill?” Gandalf frowned.

“I’ve asked what’s in the barn, what could possibly be there that needs four hobbits guarding It. IT may not seem like much Master Dwarf,” She said to Dwalin who scoffed, “But this is the Shire. There is nothing of worth here, our pride is in our food, in our hearth, in our politeness. There is nothing of worth here to steal. The most valuable thing for miles here is my silverware.”

“This piece of junk?” Nori asked, pulling a spoon out of his pocket.

“That piece of junk is the most valuable thing here. And it’s part of my mother’s dowry so if you would please put It back master dwarf.” Dori shot Miss Baggins a most impressed look when her sharp voice got Nori to actually listen.

“You could come with us.” Bofur offered and everyone scoffed. “What, she could. Or she could live in Bree.”

“No.” Gandalf said solidly. “Not yet. I am sorry to ask this of you, child, but we need to know what’s in the barn.”

“You think whatever it is it’s causing this but it’s no use. I asked Elrond but he said that often over time societies just become rigid and that’s probably what’s happened to the Shire. He said that it was bound to happen seeing as how closed off the Shire is to outsiders.”

Thorin twisted his mouth at the mention of elves. That the Burglar was so well acquainted with an Elf Lord did not sit well with him.

“Elrond is an elf.” Gandalf’s scoff at the elf’s wisdom was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. “It is true that societies become rigid over time but Elrond is an elf. They do not understand the passing of time in the lands of the mortals and for the Shire to change so quickly? All but unheard of. No, something changed. The answer lies in what is being kept in the barn.”

She caught her tongue between teeth and tapped her finger against the wood of the chair absently.

“Perhaps, but It’s not that easy. I’m not allowed near It because...well I suppose they don’t think I’m worthy. Lobelia drops in and checks on me, says that as the closest female relative it is her duty to check up on her poor spinster cousin in-law and as long as the cuff is still punishing me, she will assume there is some crime I have committed to be punished for. I will not be let near that barn unless I become proper.”

“What if I can afford you the appearance of being proper?” Gandalf leaned in conspiratorially.

“Go on.”

“I can put a masking spell on your leg so that it appears unaffected by the enchantments upon the shackle. Then all you need to do is wait and they will take you see it themselves.”

“Very well then, I shall try my best but I do have one question.”

“Name it.”

Miss Baggins turned curious eyes to Thorin and he squirmed, self conscious under the scrutiny of the hazel eyes. “What in Eru’s name does he mean by calling me a Burglar?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated!


	7. Chapter 7

**_From the Journal of Belle Baggins_ **

Lord Elrond said that it’s best to put down traumatic incidents on paper, that it can be cathartic. He was referring to the wolves I’d faced the first time I’d left the Shire but I suppose he’d say the same now. But I am afraid of what would happen if I were to put it into words. Would writing it down make it real and no longer a thing I can scarce believe or would it simply be a proof of my insanity, of the tricks my mind has played on me?

Even as I question my fears, wonder if the last few months have been but a dream, I know I am not insane. I can see the proof of it int he hand that holds the quill, the nail that has only just grown back, a mottled little thing entirely out of place. A reminder of how the one sthat preahc of peace hide demons.

I do not entirely believe I am mad but if I’m not mad then...then that means that I am the only sane person for miles around. And that is perhaps more frightening than the thought of being mad, there is an ignorance in being wrong that might be easier to live with. The prospect of Mad Belle Baggins being sane? That scares me.

What scares most people?

Is it death? The dark? Loss of loved ones? Is it starvation? Perhaps its mediocrity. Failure? All of these?

For the longest time, indeed all of my childhood and a great deal of my adulthood as well, the Shire was all I ever knew. Oh I would play at being an adventurer of course, I’d learn of worlds that I had not seen from mother but the Shire was still all I knew and it was a happy place. Not perfect, of course, but close. A simple life, of good cheer and laughter, of celebration and contentment, was all anyone asked for. There is always place for one more at the table and a warm hearth for any that should need it.

Until quite suddenly it wasn’t.

It started when I wasn’t really here. I’d left the Shire for the first time in my life and made for Rivendell in spring. By the time I was supposed to start my journey back, the Fell Winter was there. Lord Elrond extended an invitation to stay, he offered me sanctuary. He’s nice like that but I think he also wanted to know more about hobbits. From what I understand mother wasn’t as forthcoming as I was, she always did like keeping secrets. But then the Fell Winter passed and I was back in the Shire again. I think I was truly glad to see it then, the elves are beautiful and Imladris is a marvel, such hospitality, such sheer democracy in the way they worked but there was also the weight of memories upon them all. I do not envy them their immortality in the least.

Mother always said I was a dedicated child. That I would set my mind on something and see naught else. She made it sound like a wondrous trait to have, but now I wonder. It is this self same determination that left me blind to the happenings in my own home.

When I came back to the Shire it was the spring again, I’d spent a whole year on my own. Talk of the town for a few weeks but then a Brandybuck and an Underhill eloped so the village had something else to focus on and I got the chance to settle in. It wasn’t an obvious change, it didn’t happen overnight, you know. Didn’t even realise something was wrong really. Sure Lobelia was a bit more overbearing than usual and Hamfast got sharp with me about the state of my prize winning tomatoes in a way he usually wouldn’t but since I wasn’t really given to socialising much I didn’t notice any difference. I just stayed at home really, didn’t leave except to go down to the market. I was translating a set of Sindarin books about the legend of the Silmaril that Lord Elrond had been kind enough to lend me and it was a time consuming task. I didn’t notice much in the two years that followed.

When I’d passed through Bree the first time I’d gone off on an adventure, I’d made friends with a family of Men. They were from Rohan and they had different celebrations for Yule, even had a different name for it just like the name they had for hobbits and they’d invited me to see how they celebrated it. I had hit a dead end in my translations and needed to just get away for a bit so in winter I set off again.

I suppose it was the marked difference that really made it obvious to me. The Yule celebration in Bree had been bright and happy, so colourful and I was in a festive mood when I returned.

The further I got into Shire the more wrong it seemed. There was a big layer of fluffy snow all over but no one was out playing. No fauntlings making snow angels, no tweens having snow ball fights, just...silence.

The smials were all quiet and they had the same long wicked shapes of ice hanging off their houses. I know they were common enough in the houses of men but in the Shire we rarely got snow let alone icicles.

And then I reached the Party Tree. For Yule we hang thin coloured streamers to it and when the snow fell, little ice beads would form upon them and sometimes they leach the colour from the strings and take them onto themselves, like little ice baubles. When you walk under them they tinkle against one another like the prettiest wind chime in existence.

That was what I expected to see but the winds had been so harsh that the ice had formed in sharp lines, like daggers jutting out. One had taken the colour of the red streamer it was attached to and it looked like it was formed of blood. It was perhaps the most terrifying thing I had seen. How hard and long the wind must have blown to cause such shapes to arise?

I was drawn towards it, I don’t quite know why. Maybe it was the Valar guiding my actions, maybe it was just female intuition but I was walking around its trunk, my steps dragging through the snow heavily and my toe hit something strange. I cleared the snow away with dread, hoping it was just one of Farmer Murrywort‘s tubers that had been left to freeze but the first thing I saw when the snow was cleared was a hand, gone blue from the cold. I worked faster after that and screamed bloody murder when I found myself looking at a very dead and very blue Old Man Horner. Around his neck was something that looked a lot like one the streamers we tie to the party tree and between that and the purple marks it wasn’t hard to realise that he had been hung there and left to die. I pulled at the streamer and found the other side connected to a branch. It must have fallen and taken his body down with it.

My scream had attracted attention and finally I found myself looking at another hobbit. Terreon, who seemed _so_ angry at me, eyes flashing dangerously simply smiled, at complete odds with the rest of him.

‘Miss Baggins, back already eh?’ He sounded so happy and I was kneeling in the snow, crying while holding on the branch from where Horner was hung. I didn’t understand what was going on just...sat there shaking.

‘What happened here?’ I managed to ask, somehow and he looked at Horner with such venom, that smile and jocularity just gone in an instant.

‘Horner was punished, duly by the Thain.’

The Thain, my grandfather. Old Took who’d never so much as hurt a rabbit, ordered someone dead.

‘Why?’

He wore a sickening smug smile on his face as he stared at Horner’s prone body. ‘Horner was the lookout. Blasted man failed to warn us that winter was coming. We lost young Bardos.’

I didn’t understand, I still don’t, how in Arda was old Horner, who could barely move in the summer let alone in the winter when his joints got locked up, supposed o warn the village that winter was coming? They’ve ‘explained’ it to me a million times since and I don’t understand, I just don’t. They just wanted someone to blame and that Old Took would order for Horner to be killed as retribution?

I still can’t sleep most night, just lie awake and wonder if anything would have been different if I hadn’t run off to Bree for the winter. Maybe I could have convinced the Thain otherwise, maybe I would have been the lookout and managed to warn them in time, I don’t know. Maybe I could have done something. But maybe not. I am a coward after all. I left. Left, ha, I bloody ran away, all it took to scare me was Terreon looming over me and saying ‘You’d best be getting home now’ and I ran, didn’t bother with anything just turned the pony around and kept on riding until I reached Rivendell. Don’t know how I did it honestly, nor how my poor Myrtle managed it. Maybe she was just as scared as I was, I don’t know but I rode long and hard.

It didn’t do any good though. Elrond simply patted me on my head, said it would be fine, the Rangers were watching over the shire and allayed my fears just enough so that I figured it to be a lapse of judgement, temporary and I left to go back home.

It is a curious set of luck that I have. I meet extraordinarily wonderful people who are made even more extraordinary by the way they rise above their terrible circumstances. I came across a farmer on my way back, he lived close to the road. A few weeks before my arrival he had gone off to the nearest town to trade his produce for a doll for his daughter’s birthday. He returned to find that trolls had destroyed his house and his wife and daughter were nowhere to be found. He hadn’t given up hope and was still searching for them and despite his circumstances he was so kind as to offer me part of his rations and I repaid him the only way I could, by offering to help him in his search.

It was my first night there and he was fast asleep, tired after scouring the forest but to no avail. I woke up in the middle of the night at the sound of whinnying and found Myrtle gone. I followed her sounds of distress and what should I find but trolls, three of them, one of them having just settled Myrtle into a little enclosure.

Strange things, trolls. Giant and grey and deformed but social. Oddly human in a way. One of them stirred the pot of broth that smelled absolutely vile, another complained the whole time and the two of them together fussed over the third troll who was just a smidge smaller than them.

‘Horse soup again?’ the little one complained and sulked. “I don’t like horse, not enough fat on ‘em. Not juicy like them girls we had for dinner.’

‘That was weeks ago and horse is better than nothing.’

I hadn’t realised that the farmer had followed me there. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear and he rushed into the clearing with his pitchfork in hand and tried so hard to fight. He was mad, mad with anger and pain and in his zeal managed to hurt them quite badly actually. They were limping soon enough and one bled profusely from his eye from where the farmer had struck him but it was one man against three trolls and they soon knocked him on his head.

That was when I walked into the clearing and tried to rescue him. It didn’t work but I stalled them, the prospect of a ‘tender girl flesh’ had them running after me and I was so small I slipped out their hands quite easily. But just when I thought that I couldn’t run any longer the sun rose and with it he trolls turned to stone.

The poor farmer though, he was too badly hurt. He’d been knocked on his head so hard when I went to help him he called me by his daughter’s name .

‘Lucy, why’re you crying?’ He wasn’t going to live, the gash on his head from when they’d thrown him against a boulder had bled too much, when I tried to staunch its flow he didn’t even flinch even though it should have hurt. Instead he reached into the bag he always kept on him and pulled out the doll and pressed it into my hand even as his eyes shut. ‘Happy birthday my wee darling.’

I suppose that’s something to be glad for, at least he died with a smile on his face. I buried him near the ruins of his house. I wasn’t in much of a rush so I looked around eventually found a cave nearby, littered with bones and reeking of troll. Most of the skeletons weren’t human, the trolls must not have been there long enough to find the town but there were still enough human skeletons. I found one skull, impossibly small, clearly that of a child and had to leave that foul place to throw up.

Why them and not me?

I buried them all, they didn’t deserve the deaths they had gotten. There are probably people out there who miss them and have no idea where to go looking for them. I wished I could have given those poor souls more than just an unmarked grave. I left a brass button from my coat there, to commemorate them. It’s not enough but it was all I had.

I kept the doll with me. I don’t know why, it was quite obviously meant for Lucy and maybe I’m stupid but I can’t help but hope she escaped. It doesn’t change the fact that if it wasn’t her then there was still someone else that the trolls had killed. But if the fates would allow it I would wish for Lucy to be alive so that I can give her the doll and tell her of how brave her father was.

But after the trolls incident I rushed home. I had almost forgotten about Horner, made up excuses and justified it and flew on Myrtle’s back to home, desperate to see the rolling hills, the green fields to sit in my armchair again. The stench of troll clung to my dreams turning them to nightmares and I just wanted to get away from it all, certain that nothing could be worse than what I’d seen at Trollshaws, nothing in the Shire could be more terrifying than that.

I was wrong.

In hindsight, I feel like an idiot. I literally just strolled into the Shire thinking everything would be fine, so focused on getting back to Bag-End and being able to breathe again. Instead I was met at the borders by Rovenoac Kelt, a former suitor of mine who had enlisted as a Bounder a few years past.

I’d been surprised back then that he was patrolling the borders. Rovenoac was a rather agreeable hobbit and very new to the ranks of Bounders. When I’d rejected his suit he’d been so awfully nice about it I’d almost taken it back, he had the ability to get anyone to agree with him and I thought he’d be better off at the marketplace, making sure no one was misbehaving. Now of course, I realise that he was probably deliberately stationed there to make me more malleable to what they wanted, expecting me to bolt at any second.

‘Allo Belle!’ He’d waved cheerfully and it was a huge relief to find myself in the Shire. I’d been having nightmares of trolls for the past weeks of travel, ever since I’d first come across them.

‘Roven, thank Eru, I’m so glad to be home.’

‘Well before you go home, I’m supposed to take you to Tuckborough, the Thain wants to see you.’

Like a lamb to the slaughter I went. Grandfather looked paler than he usually did and he seemed to have developed a few habits as well. He rubbed his fingers together every few seconds and every time he did so, he scowled. I wondered if perhaps his health had deteriorated further but by the sprightly way he paced the room that seemed unlikely.

‘So you are back at last. Tell me Belle, why do you insist on leaving the Shire?’ There was a lisp to his voice as if he was trying hard not to hiss the words at me.

‘I was worried. I found Old Man Horner’s body and it scared me.’

‘Scared you? Why? He has been duly punished for his lapse, there is no reason to fear him any longer.’

‘It isn’t him I was afraid of. To punish him with death for something he could barely have prevented-‘

‘Could barely have prevented?! Bardos dead, my great grandson, your nephew and you say he didn’t deserve it?!’

‘A life for a life does not seem right.’

‘Right? IT is fair.’

‘I don’t agree.’

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped looking at someone behind me. I turned as well to see two Bounders and Lobelia there. ‘I hoped you would understand but it seems Lobelia was right. You are far too wilful for your own good, you must be broken.’ He wasn’t my grandfather, he was only the Thain. I realised that when the Bounders took a hold of my arms on either side and frog marched me, struggling and kicking to the Sackville-Baggins home. They led me around the back to where the cellar and I was thrown in there and the doors shut.

I was never really afraid of the dark. Other fauntlings were but I wasn’t. If I lost my way there were fireflies to guide me, I knew the ground under my feet well enough to never get lost and under the cover of dark, while I was blind I was content in knowing that others were blind to me.

That changed after my punishment. I had never experienced the dark as I did in the cellar. Silent, completely silent but only for the first few hours. Then my hearing adjusted to the dark. I started hearing things then but they were not pleasant noises. Squeaks and scurrying feet, shifting soil and sudden creaks in the wood planks. I was all but buried alive.

I grew afraid of my own voice. I remember digging my hands into my own flesh as skittering sounds echoed in the hollow space, only a mole digging above my head, I know this now but then...then it was anything and everything,

I don’t know how long I was there. Time has no meaning in the dark, no sun to tell me if it was another day, no moon sparing me a few slivers of light, nothing. Lobelia came to me on occasion bringing me some bread and a mug of water. I attacked her the first time round, desperate to escape but she had anticipated that and brought some bounders there to make sure I couldn’t leave. Eventually I learnt to just stay in the corner and wait for her to leave the meagre rations on the steps and leave. I tried to use the mug and plate to break the wood of the planks away and dig an escape but I was too loud and they found me. After that I was only allowed cutlery there when someone watched and left alone again in the dark.

‘It’s for your own good.’ She’d say and pat me on the cheek like I was some wayward child. It didn’t stop me from trying though, I tried to scrape the wood apart with my hands only to injure myself. My nails broke off my hand, leaving a bloody gory mess that I couldn’t even see. I could feel the wetness of the blood which soon dried into a sticky flaking paste on my hands. They stopped me then as well, simply tying me to a chair and then I learnt. I behaved. And four months after I was finally allowed out of there. I thought I was free but while the medic fixed me up, they slapped the cuff on my leg then and I finally realised what they wanted.

They wanted me to be a good, obedient, proper little hobbit that stayed away from Outsiders and didn’t run off on adventures. They wanted me to be just like them only I can’t. I can’t help who I am, I can’t control myself from asking questions and that is simply not allowed. Not anymore.

So I pretend to fit in now. I know they don’t entirely believe it but then again they have other worries. Every winter since has gone on for so long, some of the crops failed. We still have enough for us all but it spreads a gloom on everything. The trees don’t grow back their leaves at all, instead they remain bare and those that do sport leaves are yellow and seem to be dying, the smell of rot filling the air. In the summer the smell becomes unbearable especially when the stench of decay combines with the sickly sweet of the overripe fruit.

That is our reality now. Where once we lived in peace and plenty, now we must limit ourselves. Gone are the days of yesterday, it seems that the generations to come will think of the seven meals a day as pure myth, the land is unable to support such excess. Perhaps we will simply waste away into nothingness. Perhaps this will be read by people long after I am dead and they wonder what sort of creatures lived in such tunnelled tiny homes.

If so, allow me to introduce myself. I am Belle, an adventurer and elf friend, Halbytla and Perrian, I am the daughter of a remarkable Took and a respectable Baggins.

And I am alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating but I HAVE EXAMS COMING UP AND I AM FREAKING OUT!!! There's still a few months left but that isn't a lot of time and there's so much to do! I won't be able to reply to all the seriously lovely and awesome and bloody inspiring comments you guys all leave, I am so sorry for that but I haven't had any time.


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